The Flight Back Home
by NairobiWonders
Summary: This takes place after "Step Nine" - Holmes and Watson converse about things said in London during their flight back home to New York. Of course its Joanlocky.


Sherlock sat tense and silent, hyperaware of all that occurred around him, evaluating the condition of the aircraft, the variables each person brought to the confined space they cohabitated, the meteorological conditions that would then obviously be influenced by altitude, the cup of coffee someone just spilled ...

"Stop." Watson's voice was calm, even toned but commanding. It brought him out of the swirl of observations and deductions that were multiplying in his head.

"Look at me." Watson requested in a gentle whisper. He did so. Sherlock used her dark, kind eyes to anchor himself.

Her eyes still locked to his, she quietly told him, "Take a breath." He complied. His eyes showed a lessening of the tension, but she knew he was still calculating probabilities and taking in minutiae for further analysis.

The flight from London to New York was barely into its second hour. Watson had made sure that Sherlock had a window seat to reduce the amount of stimulus from other passengers. She kept their seating area darkened as much as possible. It was an overnight flight and most passengers were finishing the last of their beverages and settling down for the night. The flight was not full and the seat beside her was empty.

Watson decided that making him talk to her, fixing his attention to another problem might be a way for them to get through this flight without facing a forced landing. She had something she wanted to discuss with him anyway and the semi-public setting might be the best place to bring it up.

"Sex."

His head jerked around to face her. Watson semi-smiled. However brilliant the man was, he was a man. Sex trumped anxiety. His eyebrows shot up and a look of confusion with the slightest hint of expectation crossed his face. "What?" was all he managed to respond.

"Sex," she repeated.

He took a beat and stared at her. "If you insist. I think one of the bathrooms is vacant at the moment." Watson saw the small crinkle of humor in his eyes as he pretended to undo his seatbelt.

She pursed her lips at him and slightly shook her head, happy that this had drawn him out. "No. We need to talk about it."

Sherlock put on a look of mock disappointment and then took another long look at her eyes before speaking. "This is about my comments concerning you and Mycroft isn't it? I apologize, I ...

They had both lowered their voices to almost a whisper.

"No." Watson cut him off but maintained a calm tone. "This is about you and me." The look of discomfort on his face told her he'd rather go back to worrying about spilled coffee and atmospheric pressure rather than have this discussion. He glanced down at his hands and then up at her with a look that said alright let me have it.

"For starters, you discussed our personal matters in front of Lestrade."

Sherlock dismissed the comment, "Lestrade was oblivious. Unless he hears his name, the man doesn't pay attention."

Watson tried to maintain eye contact, "Doesn't matter. This should have been discussed privately." He acquiesced, nodding his consent.

Joan continued, "And then to make assumptions about me wanting to sleep with your brother and even worse, with you..." she let out a quiet, exasperated sigh.

The cabin lights dimmed for the night, leaving them in puddle of semi-darkness.

Sherlock tried to find the words to make Joan understand. "I was working under the assumption that Mycroft would want to hurt me as I hurt him. Childish, I know... " he paused and she waited. "I wanted to make you were aware of ... I, I couldn't face ..." Sherlock stopped. His words had been barely audible and he was no longer looking at her. "I realize how foolish I was ..." He stole a quick glance in her direction.

Joan just stared at him. "Yes. You were... You are so full of yourself assuming that I fantasize about you, about us having sex."

This struck a chord with Sherlock and he was no longer on the defensive. He knew better. "Watson, are you saying you've never thought about us," he motioned between them with his finger, "becoming more ... intimate."

They were both leaning in towards the armrest in order to hear and see each other, searching for physical clues behind their words.

"That's not what I'm saying," she looked away from as she spoke. Somehow this was getting turned around on her. She was not ready to tell Sherlock how she felt. She wasn't quite sure herself. Sherlock recognized Watson's hedging for what it was - self protection. They sat in silence for a few seconds listening to each other breath.

Watson broke the silence, "Have you?"

"Yes."

She changed the subject by going on the offensive once more, "Why did you then throw me at your brother, telling me you didn't mind if he and I ...?"

This time he cut her off, "I did no such thing. I wanted to show my trust in you." Even in the semi-darkness, he could see her roll her eyes.

They sat in close proximity but did not touch, both uncomfortably stared at the back of the seats in front of them. The hum of the aircraft filled the silence between them.

"I have." Watson's words were barely audible but Sherlock heard and understood her admission immediately. She glanced at him quickly to reassure herself. He moved his hand ever so slightly so that his finger touched her hand on the armrest.

Watson exhaled. The honesty, the sharing of all information between them was their best weapon against the outside world and what kept them bound to each other. They felt like Watson and Holmes again.

A small smile played on his lips. Sherlock leaned in and whispered in her ear, "The bathroom is still unoccupied."

She felt his hot breath on her and she leaned into his stubbly face so that it grazed her cheek. She then slowly pulled away so she could look into his eyes as she whispered, "I have thought about making love to you but I have also thought about beating you senseless with the single-stick baton. Lucky for you I don't act on all my thoughts."

Sherlock had a wide closed mouth grin on his face. He looked proudly at her. She smiled back.

They both sat back a bit in their seats. He retrieved the flimsy airline blankets from the seat pocket in front of him and draped them over both himself and Watson. She found his hand under the blanket. Sherlock looked at her quizzically.

"For moral support," she said.

"Hmmm," he replied a bit drowsily. He looked out the window and searched for constellations.


End file.
